


one of them

by kiyala



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:59:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1506335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire loves the arts, but hates the people involved. Then he meets Enjolras.</p>
            </blockquote>





	one of them

The first time Grantaire sees Enjolras without him being up on a stage during a ballet production or on a television screen, they're standing on opposite sides of the lobby of a concert hall. It's during the intermission of a symphonic orchestra concert and Grantaire's heart is soaring with the music that continues to play in his mind. He's trying not to let the press of socialites on all sides ruin it for him, he really is. He's doing well so far; he didn't make a beeline for the table with drinks when they got into the lobby and he's resolutely not looking in the direction of the glasses at all. Feuilly nods at him approvingly and that, combined with the fact that Feuilly just looks overjoyed to be here at all, is enough to buoy Grantaire's mood. 

"Is that…?" Feuilly asks, his eyes going wide.

"Yeah it is," Grantaire nods, reminding himself that tonight isn't about him, it's about treating his friend. "You want to go over?"

"Can we?" Feuilly asks. "Do you think that would annoy him?"

Grantaire snorts quietly. He's been stopped more times than he can count, just on his way out to the lobby by people who recognise him for the world-famous opera singer that he is. "It's fine. Come on."

Enjolras meets Grantaire's gaze as they walk across the lobby and he holds it, until they're close enough to speak. 

"You're Grantaire," he says, holding a hand out to shake.

Once upon a time, Grantaire would have been overjoyed to be recognised so easily. That was a long time ago, and very short-lived. He grasps Enjolras' hand firmly and returns with, "You're Enjolras."

"This is Combeferre," Enjolras introduces, gesturing to the man beside him. "He's my—"

"Date?" Grantaire asks, purely to get a rise out of him.

"Friend," Combeferre corrects, in a calm and patient way that suggests that he's used to hearing it, and steals all the fun out of it.

"This is Feuilly," Grantaire says, placing a hand on his friend's back.

"I'm not his date either," Feuilly says, mainly to Combeferre, who grins at him.

"More's the pity," Grantaire adds with an exaggerated sigh, clutching a hand to his chest. "I keep asking, and Feuilly keeps rejecting me."

Enjolras narrows his eyes. "I don't imagine it would sit very well with the majority of your audience, if you were to openly date a man."

"Wouldn't want to offend their sensibilities," Grantaire murmurs, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Can't afford to upset the people who keep me paid, now."

Enjolras scoffs, shaking his head. "It's people like you who make the arts scene what it is."

"Excuse me?" Grantaire asks, raising an eyebrow.

"You heard me." Enjolras is looking at Grantaire like he's barely worth the time and effort and oh, that does not sit well at all.

" _People like me_ ," Grantaire says slowly, "are the whole reason there's art to be appreciated in the first place. How many people do you think would do what we do without the reward? Without the fame and the clout among all these people with their finest suits and jewellery?"

Enjolras snorts inelegantly. "They deserve you, as far as I'm concerned."

"These people," Grantaire says, glancing around him and lowering his voice so he isn't overheard, "don't deserve any of this. They don't even deserve half of what they _have_."

Enjolras frowns. "I don't understand."

"I don't expect you to," Grantaire sneers. "You're one of them, aren't you? Rich and vapid and—"

"You have no idea who I am," Enjolras growls.

"And you don't know me any better," Grantaire replies, baring his teeth as he smiles. "So I'll leave you to enjoy the rest of your evening, floating amongst groups of people who think that they're so much better than everyone else just because they can afford to appreciate _the arts_ while looking down on the people who don't, just because they don't have the money for tickets."

"And you can—" Enjolras stops mid-sentence, his frown deepening. "Wait."

"What?" Grantaire asks, quickly running out of patience.

"We're arguing," Enjolras says, gesturing between them, "but I have a feeling that we're arguing the same side."

Grantaire frowns too. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that only the rich can afford to appreciate the arts like this and then they pretend that this appreciation makes them better than everybody else. They'd just feeding the class divide and it disgusts me."

" _Yes_ ," Grantaire says, loud enough that it draws the attention of a few people around them. He clears his throat and speaks quieter. "That's exactly what I'm saying. I hate it and it makes me want to fuck with these people so badly. Feuilly doesn't come from money—hell, I bought his suit and tickets for him as a present. But I tell people he's my cousin and they're kissing his arse like he's the king of France."

Enjolras snorts with laughter. "You brought him along to watch people make utter fools out of themselves?"

"I brought him to this concert because he's always loved music," Grantaire replies, "and he was an orphan. Grew up on the streets and bouncing between foster homes. Never got the chance to appreciate music the way he wanted to, never got the change to appreciate _this_. And I think everyone deserves the chance."

Enjolras stares at him. "I think I could kiss you."

Grantaire grins at him, holding Enjolras' gaze for a long moment before turning away and leading the way to the bathroom. He hopes that Enjolras will take the hint and follow and perhaps assuming that he'll understand a silent look after they've just completely misunderstood each other isn't the smartest thing to do, but Enjolras doesn't disappoint. He follows, and Grantaire doesn't stop walking until they're both in the bathroom and then locks the door behind them. 

"What if someone needs to use the bathroom?" Enjolras asks, as Grantaire crowds him against the door.

"There are other bathrooms." Grantaire leans into Enjolras but doesn't kiss him just yet. "They can deal with it."

Enjolras smiles at that and pulls Grantaire into a kiss. Grantaire kisses him back, not bothering to be gentle about it. If the way Enjolras' grip on him tightens is any indication, it's more than welcome.

"You—haven't actually been pursuing Feuilly, have you?" Enjolras gasps out as Grantaire nips and kisses a trail down his neck. "I don't want to get in the middle of something."

"No," Grantaire chuckles. "You don't have to worry about that."

Enjolras gasps loudly as Grantaire grabs his sides and lifts him, pressing him harder against the door. Wrapping a leg around Grantaire's waist tightly, Enjolras smiles. "If I weren't wearing these suit trousers, I would be showing off."

"We could take them off," Grantaire murmurs. He grinds against Enjolras slowly and deliberately, his breath going shaky as their erections rub against each other. "We could…"

"Fuck in a bathroom?" Enjolras asks, sounding more delighted by the suggestion than Grantaire expected. "I've never fucked a stranger in a bathroom before. Let's do it."

"In a classy place like this?" Grantaire looks around them, grinning widely. "How can I say no to that?"

They undress themselves quickly and Grantaire settles his hands on Enjolras' hips, swearing quietly. "Unfortunately, I don't exactly make a habit out of bringing condoms and lube with me to the orchestra."

"We'll improvise," Enjolras decides, wrapping his fingers around Grantaire's cock and stroking. "Okay?"

"More than okay," Grantaire replies, kissing him hard and stroking him in return. They lean against the granite bathroom counter, thrusting into each other's hands as they kiss hungrily and Grantaire is amazed that one person can get under his skin in so many different ways in the one night.

Grantaire uses his free hand to play with one of Enjolras' nipples, making him whimper into their kiss, growing louder and more desperate. Enjolras comes hard with a loud moan, stroking Grantaire faster until he follows. 

They sag against each other, kissing lazily until Enjolras pulls away, swearing. "The intermission."

"Fuck." Grantaire digs his phone out of his pants pocket, to find that the intermission had ended eight minutes ago, and that Feuilly has sent him a message.

 **Feuilly:** Saw you walking off with Enjolras and figured we'd leave you to it. Combeferre's sitting with me. He says thanks for the good seats. Catch up with you later.

"What are you laughing at?" Enjolras asks, leaning against the counter with his elbows propping him up. He looks like a model in a photo shoot, not someone who was just debauched in a public, if classy, bathroom.

"Looks like Feuilly and Combeferre made friends and left us to do what we want," Grantaire replies, waving his phone. "Speaking of, we probably can't get back into the concert now. I have plenty of condoms and lube at my place and I've been dying to see you show off since you mentioned it."

"Well then," Enjolras grins. "What are we waiting for? Lead the way."


End file.
